Odds and Ends
by Lunamaria
Summary: Identity reveal ficlets. 6: When she meets him on the steps, it's like she's seeing him for the first time. He isn't just Adrien, and he isn't just Chat Noir.
1. François de La Rochefoucauld

_"We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves."  
_

 _― François de La Rochefoucauld_

 _._

.

I.

Discovering the identity of Ladybug – his partner, ally, and recipient of excellent and sometimes not-so-excellent puns - turns out to be as simple as being in the right place at the right time...if you are Chat Noir. If you are Ladybug, or, as it turns out, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, it is probably more of the wrong-place-wrong-time situation.

In the end, she is not as well-hidden as expected, or perhaps great minds think alike. The flash of her de-transformation catches his eye as he rounds into the same darkened, narrow side street as his partner. The quick red light burns though his eyes and set his cat-like tendencies to life. Reflexively, he pounces back into the safety of the shadows, black into black. The hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. His green eyes widen and adjust.

She doesn't quite see him as her Miraculous gives out. In a rush of red and undoing, Ladybug's most carefully kept secret is given away. She looks left and right, assured of her safe transition from superhero to civilian. She steps out into the street, into the warm light of mid-afternoon Paris. As soon as she is there, she is gone. Ladybug...Marinette.

To say the least, Chat Noir is stunned. Silent and slack-jawed, he hardly notes the beeping of his own Miraculous. As his own transformation releases, Plagg and Adrien are left in its place. The former of whom does not look at all surprised by the newly revealed identity of Ladybug. All Adrien can read of Plagg is a weary resignation, as though he is imagining all the ways his cheese-filled life has just been upended.

"You knew?" It comes out as an accusation, which, technically, it is.

Plagg folds his arms together, turning away, to say, "You sit behind her every day. The universe gave you enough hints, kid."

And what can he say to that, the understatement of the century?

The revelation shocks him into silence all the rest of the day. He isn't happy with Plagg, but after a lifetime with Gabriel Agreste, he can't hold a grudge. It's better to forgive than to go on in silence; Adrien has enough of that in his life. He can't stand it from Plagg too.

As the surprise fades through the week, Adrien begins to fit the pieces together, as incongruent as they seem. Strange and unreal as the revelation has been, he reviews every crumb of knowledge of Ladybug and Marinette he has. A thousand details — absences, appearances, gestures — click into place. Of course Marinette would need to make quick exits and re-appear conveniently (sometimes beyond rational explanation) after an akuma attack. He knows all too well the balancing act it takes to be a student and one-half of Paris's superhero duo.

There are also clues in her personality; parallels that make him feel like an idiot for never even considering the possibility. A boldness that sometimes surprised. A sense of fairness and justice. A sharp intelligence; a fire, a spark. If he thinks about the two of them side by side, the differences seem less and less pronounced. He can see how both identities, Ladybug and Marinette, blend together to create one person. As Marinette, those details never added up. As Ladybug, they make perfect sense, transforming two halves of a girl into perfect clarity. Two pieces made whole.

Ladybug and Marinette. Marinette and Ladybug.

The two identities, initially so different, gradually begin to seem so complimentary and right. Until there is no Ladybug, no daring and brave partner whose presence gnaws and chafes with its mystery. All that is left is Marinette. Brave and nice and perfect. An ordinary girl with an extraordinary secret. More than that, she is real. So real, it takes his breath away, destroying every pedestal he had ever built for his partner to stand upon.

It makes it easier to believe he can be both Adrien and Chat Noir, just a little. Marinette and Ladybug did seem different from one another, unstudied. Yet, the more he weighs the truth, the more he understands the duality of Marinette. The more it seems like she can be his friend _and_ his partner. How being one does not necessitate she is not the other. It doesn't mean she is living half of her life as a lie.

Chat and Adrien could not be more dissimilar. One, polished and polite, the perfect, quiet child Gabriel Agreste expected. The other...everything Adrien Agreste wasn't. But maybe the good parts of Chat are the good parts of Adrien too.

It makes him want to tell her everything, to thank her for being Marinette and Ladybug and giving him this new understanding of himself. For being in his life, as his partner and his friend. For finding him. For having his back, in and out of their suits. He wants to shout from every rooftop they race across, whether fighting an akuma or teaming up for weekly patrols.

But...he doesn't. Above everything, Ladybug values the division between her life as superhero and civilian; her church and state, independent of one another at all costs. She deserves it too — her identity, her personal space, her secrets. The chance to share her identity on her own terms, if ever.

Adrien doesn't want Ladybug or Mariette like this, without her will, without her consent. He wants her when she's ready to breach her divide. When she decides to remove her mask, in more ways than one.

She is worth the wait.


	2. Adrienne Rich

_"No person, trying to take responsibility for her or his identity, should have to be so alone. There must  
be those among whom we can sit down and weep, and still be count_ed as warriors."

 _― Adrienne Rich_

 _._

.

II.

The world outside is chaos.

News trucks, fans, protestors — the entire universe, it seems — flood the street outside the Dupain-Cheng bakery. The occasional helicopter beats by, capturing aerial footage of the most interesting place in all of Paris: the place where Ladybug eats, sleeps, and lives her daily life. An innocuous patisserie, home to one of Paris's greatest secrets.

To city-wide disappointment, the cameras don't get much of a view. She has only left the bakery once, this morning on her way to school. Hidden beneath Tom's vast arm and guided to school in private transportation provided by Mayor Bourgeois, she remains largely out of view. At least for now.

It doesn't stop the news from picking apart the pieces of her life that can't be tucked safely into her father's arms. Her name, age, picture, home address. Her interests, her accomplishments, her entire life dissected over the tv, radio, and papers. Ladybug is half-Chinese. Ladybug is a fan of Jagged Stone. Ladybug likes to design. Ladybug, this. Ladybug, that.

What they don't know is how little sleep their favorite superheroine is getting. It comes only in fits, and always punctuated by nightmares. The incessant flashing of cameras. The nonstop hounding of Paris's media for an exclusive with Ladybug. Le Papilion finally having the in he needs...every stitch of Ladybug and Marinette bared and revealed, ready for his unraveling.

Her greatest fears are being realized, and no one seems to understand what they've done.

On the news, Nadja Chamack hosts an endless stream of updates on the shocking revelation that has rocked _La Ville-Lumière._ The world has discovered the civilian identities of their beloved superheros, Ladybug and Chat Noir — and it wasn't what they expected.

Next come the questions. Are they too young? How is it possible Paris' heroes are collége students? How can they possibly allow children to fight crime in their streets?

Everything is too much — too noisy, too scary, too unbearable. Too real.

In the rare moment Marinette finds herself alone in the collége's halls, she slips unnoticed into the nearest utility closet. For the first time in over a week, she has some semblance of anonymity. Her whereabouts are mercifully unaccounted for.

Cross-legged with her back digging against some manner of mop or broom, it feels like the only place in the universe where she is able to breathe.

The world outside? Scary and suffocating.

The closet? Dark, quiet, _calm_.

The towels and supplies stacked around, smelling of dust and chemicals, don't care about her double life. They expect nothing from her. They just exist around her, mildewy and still.

All is shadowy and silent until the closet door cracks open a few minutes later. In an instant, Marinette's peace cracks open like an egg. And she's ready for the yolk to spill, for whatever manner of intruder awaits her. Fan, classmate, reporter, it doesn't matter.

Except it isn't who Marinette expected...at all.

Outlined in the fluorescent hallway lights is the other problem in Marinette's life. The one who she hasn't had the chance to speak to or even see in person, on this side of Paris's burning reveal: Adrien Agreste. Technically, Adrien isn't the problem. He's perfect. Smart, kind, and beautiful, he's Marinette's part-time-dream-part-time-obsession.

It's his recently revealed alter ego that has Marinette second-guessing everything. Adrien is a lot more complicated than she ever knew; it has her wondering how she was ever so blind.

Her blues eyes widen, and he grins, just a little. At first, it seems like one of Adrien's small, polite smiles. Until all she can see is Chat, head tilted as he favors his partner with another pun, all playful mischief. Adrien, Chat. Chat, Adrien. How could she not see this all along? How could she ever have missed this, _missed him?_

It has her wondering a lot of things.

The guilt that she could have so completely misunderstand him gnaws at her. In the aftermath of everything, she doesn't feel worthy of any part of him. Boy or superhero.

Marinette says nothing...can't really think of much to say with her partner grinning down at her like that. Quiet and confused but trying. Trying with her, to begin wading through this world where they know everything and so does everyone else. Where she's huddled in a closet — Ladybug, _hiding_ — and he's holding the door and maybe so much more open.

She says the first thing she can think of. "Your father let you come?"

"He's being...surprisingly cool." She can tell her question surprises him, like it's the last thing he expected his classmate-slash-partner to ask, circumstances considered.

But she scoots over, because the only way out is through. Her hands and knees shake as she moves deeper in the closet, leaving just enough room for a boy Chat's size. The invitation is implicit, she thinks. It's also terrifying and too real...but she can't let either of them be alone. Not if she can help it, and not after he took the first step by opening the closet's door. It's what Ladybug would do for Chat, and it's what Marinette would do for Adrien.

He steps into the darkness, closing the door behind without fuss.

Gingerly, he settles beside her. Not too close. Maybe he's afraid she will run if his knee knocks hers or if their elbows brush. Everything is so, so tentative.

"And your parents?" he asks, quiet.

"It's complicated."

And it is. Tom and Sabine are understanding, wonderful parents...but things are different when it's their daughter out there, vaulting across rooftops into certain danger. They're just as unsure as the rest of the world what to do with this newly discovered information.

Adrien and Marinette are complete in darkness, both silent for some time. It is understood this is likely the only bit of it they'll have for a very long time. Here, together, it's almost good. Almost comfortable.

"Marinette?" Adrien says after a time. He sounds so small and scared, Marinette's heart aches for him. Here in the dark, it's easier to see him as Chat, her partner and best friend. To hear him so troubled and hesitant, rings some deep chord in Marinette. She can't bear to see him hurt. She wants to protect him from the world, whether he is Adrien or Chat Noir or someone in between.

Either way, he belongs to her. Either way, she will do all it takes to protect him.

"...Adrien?"

"What happens next?" he asks. The question that's haunted them both since this business began, that will nip at their heels as soon as they leave the safety of this dark, random slice of sanctuary.

But she already knows what will happen and what they will do. Regardless of identities and secrets, it's the one thing she's certain of. "We stay together. We fight Le Papillon. We're in this together, _chaton_."

His hand brushes hers, just a whisper of touch.

"Always?" he asks.

"Always," she says.


	3. Robert Brault

_"Having perfected our disguise, we spend our lives searching for someone we don't fool."  
_

 _― Robert Brault_

 _._

.

III. Part 1 of 2

"Aren't you friends with him, Princess?" Chat asks from below as he sits cross-legged on the floor, leaning casually against one side of Marinette's bed.

He's thumbing through the latest issue of her favorite fashion magazine, peppering observations here or there as he works his way through the pages. His comments reveal what once surprised her – Chat Noir is no stranger to fashion.

Half listening, she loops her needle here, working it through a seam there. "Friends with who?"

" _Him_ ," Chat says with enough emphasis that her hand hesitates over the next stitch.

Marinette looks over her shoulder to see Chat holding the magazine open for her to see. On a two-page spread is Adrien Agreste, head to toe in white like a ridiculously perfect Christmas angel. As always, every detail is just right – the hair, the outfit, the subtle smoothness of airbrushing.

Marinette turns back to her work; she's seen the editorial about a thousand times. She hates everything about it. What the world sees is the perfectly coiffed son of fashion icon Gabriel Agreste, following in his father's steps like some obedient museum piece. The world doesn't know how much more there is to Adrien than those two glossy pages.

She hates there was a time when she didn't know either.

"Yes, you know that already."

"How close are you?" he asks as he closes the magazine, casting it aside. He reaches for another, frowning at it as he surveys the cover up and down.

"Close, I guess?"

It's not as if they've never discussed Adrien. They have, of course, just like they've talked about all of Marinette's friends. Chat knows a lot about Marinette – her hopes, dreams, likes, dislikes, and so much more. He is, of all the people in Marinette's life, the only person to know her in and out of costume.

Things between them are easy and natural; they exist together without thought, without any of Marinette's complicated overthinking. She can't help but trust him as much as she does, even out of her suit. For eight years, they've been a team, even if he doesn't realize it.

That's a bit of deceit that will get her into trouble someday – but that's a worry for another time.

For now, he visits his civilian friend every other night, stepping into her neat studio with his puns and his companionship.

"Close, or close-close?" She hears Chat's next question on the heels of an impatient huff.

"Close-close?" Marinette laughs. "Meaning?"

At first this seems like a bit of their usual banter, the playful conversation she's come to enjoy sharing with Chat.

"Meaning, would you stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life?"

Marinette's hand pauses over its next loop. Turning, she sees the cover of the magazine Chat pulled from the stack. She recognizes the cover, just as she recognized Adrian's editorial.

Adrien and Chloe, arm in arm, smile in their dazzling, practiced way. The headline announces: _Chloe and Adrian, Engaged at Last!_ If Chat bothered to open to article inside, he would know what all of Paris knows:

Adrien Agreste and Chloe Bourgeois, both 22, are engaged to marry in the spring.

They makes sense; they always have. She, daughter of Paris's mayor and owner of Le Grand Paris, André Bourgeois. He, son to designer and couturier, Gabriel Agreste. Theirs is a courtship written in the stars. Destined, sensible...expected.

Marinette did not despair to first hear the news. Her relationship with Adrien – a comfortable, companionable friendship – is something that had bloomed between them in the aftermath of her obsessive crush. Even her rivalry with Chloe has since evolved into an odd, begrudging mutual respect.

Looking at the cover in silence, Marinette considers Chat's last question. She swallows, jerking her chin and shoulders around to escape the heat of Chat's gaze.

 _Would you stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life?_

His question fills the space as it grows between them. It's as if the temperature inside her apartment has dropped by several degrees, despite the warm, end-of-summer breeze brushing in and out of her open windows.

"Adrien loves Chloe," she says, stabbing her needle into its next stitch, pulling it through with more force than necessary.

She's stung somehow. He doesn't know the first thing about Chloe and Adrien. All he knows of them he's learned from Marinette (or the tabloids, she supposes). What does he even know?

"But maybe he doesn't love her...romantically. Maybe it's just friendship. And duty. Maybe it's only because of what's expected."

As Ladybug, Marinette knows a lot about expectations. Chat does too...and so does Adrien.

"The answer is no."

"No?"

"No," Marinette confirms, another rough prick into her latest project. "I am not going to stop Adrien Agreste from marrying his girlfriend."

"Even if you knew it was was the wrong thing for him?" She ignores the betrayal in his voice; another detail that begins nagging at her, like a loose thread begging to be tugged free.

"Chat," she says, breathing in and holding it for a moment. She blows it out, rustling her bangs. "Sometimes it isn't our place. Sometimes...our friends have to take responsibility for their own lives. For better or worse."

"You don't think he should marry her." He may as well have said _Aha! I knew it!_

"Chat–"

"You think it's a mistake."

"I didn't say that–"

"Marinette." His speaks slowly. His voice urges her. "Be honest with me."

She doesn't even think when she answers this time. Her mind is at work with a creeping suspicion, one that distracts her into saying, "No, I don't think he should marry her."

And there it is between her and Chat. For all she had learned to turn her romantic feelings into friendship with Adrien, like some patient, masochistic Rumpelstiltskin...there it still is. Her concern, her worry, her feelings.

"I would say," she says, turning her face into her dress form. "Don't do something that doesn't make you happy. Don't settle for anything, not for anyone. No matter what."

She rests her head against the form's padded shoulder, bangs falling into her eyes. Suddenly, she is so, so tired with the weight of this conversation. "I would say...Don't do this, if it isn't what you truly want."

And she would say it to Adrien, if he asked. Not for any reason other than her love for him as her friend. It is more important to her than anything; more important even than the embers of old feelings, the twinge of their unfinished business.

Softly she adds, "But it's not my place. It isn't yours either, to say that."

Chat is quiet then, and their eyes meet across her room. Marinette's breath catches at the look in his eyes, the incongruent mix of regret and hope. As if her words hurt, but also as if they're a key to something.

Chat seems to choose his words carefully as he gets to his feet. His movement is quick and graceful, as though he is truly feline. "Maybe it's what he should hear."

"Chat, this isn't about you." Marinette shakes her head, turning away again.

"But what if it was?" he says, and she can hear him moving toward her.

 _But what if it was?_

Misgiving begins to prickle again at Marinette, like an itch. Her brain starts connecting dots that she hadn't thought to before, faster and faster as the silence and implications stretch between her and Chat. Countless details begin pitching together. She can feel the weight of a certainty beginning to form. A dreadful, irrefutable truth.

A truth, she feels, he is begging her to piece together.

When she turns, she is blinded by a sudden flash of green light. The strike burns Marinette's vision, but her eyes adjust quickly. She is used to working around it with every one of her own transformations...and de-transformations.

She squeezes her eyes shut in panic, but she knows they can't stay that way forever. Her partner has made a choice. All that's left is to accept the reality of the truth he has given her. Forced on her.

She has a strong suspicion of who is standing there. Her gut rarely misleads her.

She opens her eyes, facing the inevitable. The thread between Before and After snaps, like a dam bursting open.

There they are, face to face, civilian to civilian. Friend to friend.

"Adrien."


	4. Libba Bray

_"And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time."  
_

 _― Libba Bray_

 _._

.

IV. Part 2 of 2

"And she still won't talk to me." Chat sighs into the cold Paris night, propped against the warm bricks of a fat, smoking chimney.

Across from him sits Rena Rouge, one leg dangling over the side of the roof. She nods wordlessly, tapping her flute lightly against one booted foot. Considering, she continues her _tap, tap, tap_.

Each tap sounds like another nail in his Chat Noir-shaped coffin.

It's been two months since his disastrous night with Marinette. Two months since he bared both his soul and his identity, only to realize what a mistake he had made.

He doesn't quite regret finally telling Marinette the truth. It's more…that he gave her no choice in the matter. He took something away from her, and he can understand why she has refused to see him.

Chat is not used to be this selfish. He isn't used to feeling like his father.

"Did she recognize you?" Rena asks.

Chat hesitates. Rena may be his occasional patrol buddy and akuma-fighting partner, but that doesn't mean he wants her getting anywhere near Adrien. He's a little conflicted about his identity these days.

All he seems to be doing is disappointing everyone with the truth.

Chat hangs his head, both clawed hands pushing through his mess of blond hair.

"Maybe."

Rena's flute pauses midair. Her mouth hangs open, eyebrows drawn high.

"Wow."

"I know," is all Chat can say.

"Why did you tell her?" Rena demands, practically slamming the flute down onto the roof as her journalistic curiosity flares to life.

Beneath his mask, she can see a blush beginning to creep over his face and ears. He says nothing, but the red working down his neck tells her everything she needs to know.

"No! But I thought–" Rena pauses, gesturing between them. "Ladybug, right?"

"I know."

There's a moment of silence before she bursts into laughter. It echoes across rooftops high above the wintery bustle of Paris below. The incongruity of it all isn't lost on Rena; Chat Noir is in love with her very best friend. By all accounts, the ordinary, everyday civilian Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

"What a mess you've gotten yourself into, chaton."

"I know," he moans, looking as helpless as a stray caught in the rain.

"Wanna race?" Rena challenges suddenly, getting to her feet. She eyes _la tour Eiffel_ glittering in the distance, unimpeded by the snowfall.

Chat shrugs, but Rena catches the glint of mischief in his eyes as he rises.

"Game on, Rena. Last one to _la tour_ does Le Papillon's laundry!"

* * *

It's pure coincidence that he finds her.

The easy nights of slipping into her open windows – always the one to the very left, the window he liked to think of as his – had come to an abrupt stop. In their place were shuttered windows, a not-so-subtle rebuff of past privileges, and blocked phone calls.

Both Adrien and Chat were being kept at bay, distant and regretful.

It is nothing short of luck that he sees her during one last patrol sweep, standing alone against her old haunt – the Dupain-Cheng bakery balcony. Face up toward the dark, cold night, she stands illuminated by a single flickering lantern.

His heart stops in its chest, mesmerized, eager.

When he lands beside her, she jumps. Her shock turns into panic as she takes him fully in, from his black boots to the tips of his cat's ears.

"Adrien," she gasps, eyes widened and looking instantly to the exit to her old bedroom. Her hands are white-knuckled against the wrought iron, her cheeks pale from cold and a mixture of emotions he can't quite place.

"Marinette, please don't go in. Please talk to me."

She hesitates. She looks from the door to him, measuring. Deciding, he thinks. When she releases her grip on the balcony, turning to face him, he sighs a breath of relief.

He's won something, however small.

"What can you possibly say to me?"

She huffs warm breath into her hands, trying to thaw her fingers as she rubs them together. Her breath comes to life in the cold, puffing out like a smoke or fog.

"I broke off my engagement with Chloé."

Marinette shakes her head, bangs stirring over her forehead. _As if she didn't know_.

The news has painted the pages of the gossip columns and society articles all week, online and in print. Representatives of the Bourgeois' and Agrestes' have released their statements and apologies, affirming the ex-lovers are friends and will continue to support each other's personal and professional pursuits.

It's all so very amicable, so clean and simple.

"I know."

"You know? Why didn't you come find me?"

Marinette scoffs, folding her hands into her pockets. "What do you want from me, Adrien?"

She looks him in the eye, mouth turned fully down. He's never asked himself that before – no one has ever asked him what he wants.

 _What does he want?_ The question seems foreign, but he knows the answer. He's known for some time. He wants so, so much. Anything. Everything. Whatever she's willing to give...whatever she has. All of it.

"More," he settles on, coming toward her, arms spread as if to gesture what he can't quite say. Maybe it can explain to her what words can't. Maybe she will understand his eyes, his shoulders, his hands. "No secrets, no walls, no identities. Not anymore."

Maybe she will understand how much her friend has come to burn for her.

"It's different now." Her words are so quiet, he almost misses the grief in them.

"Nothing's different, Marinette." A lie, of course, but how can he show her what he sees? Here is someone he can share everything with – Chat, Adrien, every refraction of his identity. He wants it so badly, he could burst.

"Everything was so easy. Everything between Chat and Adrien was separate, organized. Now it's just so…"

"Complicated?" he completes.

"Too complicated."

"I'm still me, Marinette. I'm Adrien. I'm Chat, but I'm also Adrien."

" _Adrien_ is exactly the problem," she huffs, ripping her hands from her pockets to point them toward him, accusing.

The words spark between them and sink deep into Adrien. _Adrien is exactly the problem_. Hope begins to burn, warm and hot and so, so hopeful.

"You mean, you are…Chat?"

She doesn't acknowledge or counter his implication, but that's its own answer.

Marinette loves Chat Noir – she loves him. Somewhere along the course of their friendship, he began loving her too.

Being with her, spending time with her…how could he not?

Day by day, he began getting to know his shyest once-classmate. He felt himself building a friendship with her…each night spent in Marinette's company was a night he learned. Before he could even account for it, she knew him. Every hidden, subdued part of him, she came to know and accept and understand.

He also knew her, in pieces and in parts, until they formed a full picture. By then, he was probably already half in love with her.

He almost can't believe his luck.

"Tell me you don't love Ladybug," Marinette says suddenly, tearing Adrien from his thoughts and into a little detail he could kill himself for forgetting.

The world knows Chat Noir is madly in love with his partner, Ladybug. More accurately, that he used to love her.

"Marinette, I have my regard for her. But it's different now. We aren't, we're not – I'm not–"

"In love with your partner of eight years?"

"Marinette, it's not Ladybug I want. It's you."

"You don't know what you want," she says, sounding too much like his father. Sounding too much as though she's looked him over and can sum him up with a single string of words.

Her accusation hurts. He readies his defense, but she isn't finished.

"You don't understand anything. You want nothing between us? No walls, no secrets, no hidden identities?"

She's crying now. Fat tears roll down her cheeks, over her nose, and under her chin. Instantly, Chat comes to her. His instincts swell to life – protect, protect, protect.

Marinette thrusts her arm out to stop him from coming closer. The gesture stings, but he stops in his place. Tentatively, he reaches a gloved hand out to her.

"Marinette?"

"Tikki, please," she says into her jacket, lifting the collar. "Just end this."

The hair on the back of Chat's neck stands as Marinette accepts his hand. Holding tightly to him, something flies out from her coat in a flash of red and spots.

It shouldn't surprise him that Marinette is right – she always is.

He really doesn't understand anything.

Not as his dearest friend is wrapped in a sudden whorl of red light. Not as his partner stands in her place, head to toe in polka dots, crying harder than before…her gloved hand in his.

Not as everything changes yet again.


	5. Walt Whitman

_"I have learned that to be with those I like is enough."_

 _― Walt Whitman_

 _._

.

V.

"One more," he says, caught somewhere between laughter and a whisper.

Marinette obliges on the heels of her own hushed laugh.

Ducking beneath his arms, she presses her lips to his neck. Humming, she presses a second kiss to the underside of his jaw. A third kiss she places just beneath his ear.

The tickle of it sends a shiver down Adrien's spine. Marinette grins into his neck, the air heavy and electric as he whispers hoarsely, "One more."

Marinette arches back, pressing him farther into the bed. She could do this forever and never tire of it, trading kisses and fragmented words in the dark, tucked secretly into the Agreste mansion.

"I don't believe you," Marinette teases, hands on Adrien's shoulders. She crooks another smile at him through the curtain of her hair. Her vantage point above him offers the best view in all of Paris – the flushed face of her partner and boyfriend, Adrien Agreste. He looks up to her, half-lidded eyes dark and hair mussed. Such a beautiful boy.

She could take a bite out of him, so she does, slanting her mouth over his.

Their noses bump, a coil of affection, protectiveness, and want, pulsing between each point of contact. She brings her full weight down on him, legs on either side of his. His musician's fingers reach into the thicket of her loose hair, exploring and anchoring her before she has a chance to return aloft.

When they break apart, breathing heavy, he can't stop the thought: _this moment is the closest thing to perfect_.

Marinette is the most beautiful thing, lit like a sprite by a cut of moonlight shining through his windows. His best friend, his partner, the only person in the world who holds every piece of him in her palm, backlit by a silvery beam of light. She's looking down to him like she's just as happy.

"One more-" he starts, but Marinette cuts him off with three quick, successive kisses.

" _Un, deux, trois_ ," she says between each, a staccato of words and lips.

Before he can reach her, she's rolling off him and already at work with smoothing down her mussed hair and clothing. Maybe she's not in her suit, but she's nimble when she needs to be.

" _Marinette_." Adrien isn't proud of the Chat Noir-esque grumble in his voice, but there's nothing wrong with letting a little alter ego slip out now and again. Especially where one's girlfriend is concerned.

"It's getting late," she laughs, dodging his outstretched hand as she peers into the darkness of Adrien's room. "Plagg, Tikki?"

After a moment of squinting and searching, twin flashes of color rattle out of a drawer from the second level. Tikki and Plagg, indistinguishable flashes of red and black, circle each other as they tag and play on their way to their partners.

The kwamis' quiet laughter fills the space as they poke and prod, tease and tickle. Marinette's eyes go to Adrien's. They grin.

"Ready?" She asks as Tikki lands on her shoulder, giving a quick nuzzle to Marinette's cheek.

Marinette dips one quick bow to Adrien and Plagg. "This bug's gotta run."

Adrien rolls over onto his stomach, face half-buried into his pillow. Lazy chat. "Make sure you use the right window."

 _AKA, the one window in his room that is just miraculously out of a camera's reach._

"Will do, _mon chaton_."

With one quick smile, and one quick transformation, Ladybug disappears into the Paris night.

* * *

Sneaking out of the Agreste residence undetected is not sweat for Ladybug. In her suit, she can tumble and soar – and she's faced much worse than predictable security cameras. Even Gabriel's on-hand staff is child's play when you've got spots.

It's a simple swing from Adrien's window, a leap or two, and a final jump out of the compound. She anticipates everything. Every moment, her body navigates its next move before she even has a chance to think on it. All steps in a dance to get her from Adrien to the outside gates of his mammoth of a home.

She slips over the wall with her last acrobatic feat. She won't say so to Chat Noir, but her landing is graceful enough to be called feline.

Satisfied, she throws one last look behind her. As she turns around, ready to map her next move, Marinette stops in place.

What she didn't anticipate? Nathalie Sancoeur.

"Nathalie," she gasps, startled out of her manners.

There's a moment of stillness, surprise mirrored between civilian and superhero, as they each sink into understanding. Instantly, Marinette's blood turns to ice.

The reality unfurls before her like the inconvenient thing it is: there is no good reason for one half of Paris's superhero duo to be launching herself outside the home of Gabriel Agreste. At midnight. Without her partner. From within the Agreste residence.

Nathalie moves first, tucking away her amazement in one smooth adjustment of her glasses. In one fluid turn of her hand, she's back to the assistant Marinette is used to seeing. Placid as can be, flattening the paperwork in her arms.

It shouldn't surprise Marinette that she is so economical, even in present circumstances; she knows Nathalie is not a woman of waste. It is not an easy thing, being the right-hand woman of Gabriel Agreste. Every move must be calculated, every word articulated as intended. Everything to the point. "Ladybug."

The only indication this is not business-as-usual is the slight quirk of a single eyebrow.

"I'm just…" Marinette begins but stops. She's just what? She's definitely told some wild stories as Ladybug, but she's never had to explain herself out of a situation quite so…incriminating.

Nathalie casts a quick glance past Marinette, in the direction of Adrien's wing. No light shines through his windows, but Nathalie's eyebrows knit together in thought.

Marinette sucks in a breath – she can only imagine the details Nathalie is carefully combing over. The flush of Ladybug's cheeks, her swollen lips, her poorly concealed guilt. The general direction she came from.

She opens her mouth to explain, willing any reasonable explanation out–

"Patrolling at such late hours," Nathalie says, as if plucking the prayer from Marinette's mind. Her tone leans grateful, although in her typically clipped and careful way. "If Mr. Agreste were here, I'm sure he would thank you for diligently keeping watch."

Marinette can't believe she didn't think of that. It's just vague enough…just routine enough to fudge. Everyone knows Ladybug and Chat Noir patrol, oftentimes into the late hours of the night.

There is the little matter of coming from _within_ the Agreste household, but Nathalie seems willing to set that aside. Marinette's not going to complain about that.

"Ah, yes, patrol. One never knows when Le Papillon will strike!" Marinette winces at the high squeak of her voice, but she can't help but feel like she was just granted a small miracle.

Lady Luck, indeed.

Nathalie nods evenly, gripping the documents in her arms closer to her chest. "Yes, one never knows."

An awkward moment or two lingers in the air between them. Nathalie does not seem interested in disturbing it; in fact, she seems rather content with surveying her unexpected guest from head to toe.

Marinette would rather not be under the cold scrutiny longer than is necessary. She grabs for her yo-yo, scanning eagerly into the skyline about Nathalie's head. She's about two seconds from sweet, sweet escape.

"Well, gotta go…you know, patrol!"

Before Nathalie has a chance to reply, Ladybug vaults past her. In a gust of red and dots, she escapes over the streets and buildings above.

Nathalie waits a moment, the winking figure of Paris's superheroine growing more and more distant. She waits until she can no longer pick Ladybug's outline out of the sky. In a matter of moments, the girl is well and truly out of each.

For the meanwhile – if Nathalie has learned anything in her line of work, it's that success is the sum of smalls efforts. She is nothing if not a patient woman.

"I wonder," she says, casting one last look toward Adrien's rooms. She adjusts her glasses again and reaches for her phone.

It doesn't take long for him to answer.

"Mr. Agreste? There's something we need to discuss."


	6. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain."

― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 _._

.

VI.

"He's out there, Marinette."

"I know, Tikki."

Of course she knows. If there's anything she's been on top of today, it's knowing Adrien's exact location at all times. It certainly doesn't hurt that she's already memorized his weekly schedule. This intel usually comes in handy for crafting ways for their paths to cross.

This is the first time she's used it to avoid him.

"Cats hate the rain," Tikki sighs from her perch at the window.

 _Cats hate the rain_. Marinette buries her face into her hands. She doesn't think hiding will magically solve all her problems, but she's not above trying. Maybe when she moves her hands away, she'll realize this is all some crazy dream.

Except when she opens her eyes, the world hasn't taken anything back. She's still dodging the unsettling curveball life's thrown at her, one hand gripped on the front doors of _Collège Françoise Dupont_. Tikki's still watching her expectantly, waiting for her to act a little more like Ladybug.

Tikki isn't the only one waiting. Through rain-fogged windows, Marinette can see him on the steps of the school, umbrella in hand as he patiently endures her meltdown.

"Tikki, what am I supposed to do?"

This wasn't something Tikki wanted for her. It was everything they worked to avoid…but it's happened, hasn't it? It's already done, and the only way out is through

" _Marinette_."

"Okay, I know, I know."

She knows the answer – they all three do. They all know what must happen, because turning back is not an option she was provided with. Marinette has to open the door eventually and step into the rain. She has to face him. She has to leave her school behind and walk into the uncertainty waiting for her on the steps.

"Be fair, Marinette," Tikki pleads.

"Why are you on his side?"

"Because you're hiding."

"I have my reasons! What am I supposed to do about him? He's...Adrien is…"

The way she would have ended that sentence a few days ago? Adrien is _…perfect, wonderful, kind, a sweet cinnamon roll, an angel, etc._ Marinette can't even begin to forgive herself for that level of blindness. The embarrassment of it hasn't even fully sunken in.

She would never describe her partner that way. Perfect? No, of course not. But he is so much more. Brave, loyal, dependable, selfless. He is the only person she wants beside her, facing all the dangers _Le Papillon_ sends their way.

She doesn't want anyone else, even knowing what she knows.

"Chat Noir?" Tikki finishes for her, placing a delicate tap to her chin.

"Chat Noir," Marinette agrees.

Just like that, she accepts the truth for what it is – inevitable.

Marinette tightens her grip on the door handle, and twists it open. After all, cats really do hate the rain.

"Here I go, Tikki."

* * *

When she meets him on the steps, it's like she's seeing him for the first time. He isn't just Adrien, and he isn't just Chat Noir. He's so much more, a nuanced and complicated friend, a gentle and loyal partner. There is still so much to learn, but it suddenly seems like it will be okay. Even with the rain falling all around, changing everything it touches.

For a moment, they don't speak. Adrien must be feeling the same way, Marinette thinks. Life threw him the same curveball, the same crashing in of two separate worlds. Like him, she is two halves of an unexpected whole.

Carefully, he holds the stem of his umbrella toward her. It is so like that first day and that first rain. It's nostalgic and unsettling and just the littlest bit like tightrope walking. To accept the umbrella is to accept everything – Chat Noir, Adrien, the two halves of her life no longer partitioned.

Everything is so different than she ever imagined, her same world…but inverted.

"It's raining…cats and dogs." It's the kind of stupid joke Chat Noir would have made, but he delivers it with Adrien's smile. Which is Chat's smile now too. And Adrien's terrible sense of humor.

"And bugs?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Marinette's hesitance there, but it takes all of Ladybug's courage to stay where she is. Which must also then be Marinette's bravery. And even Ladybug can be afraid, just as Marinette can gather the strength to face what's in front of her.

"Those too. Of course." He inclines his head, stepping a closer so they both fit under his umbrella.

"Let's go somewhere…and talk?" Marinette asks, more steady as she places her hand along the curved stem of his umbrella. Their hands bump, careful and tentative.

"I'd like that," Adrien says, and he gets Marinette's smile in return. "After you, m'lady."


End file.
